


When the Brush Turns

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in Tokio Hotel has their method of avoiding the makeup brush wielded by Bill's flailing hand, but unbeknownst to all, they've been maneuvered right where somebody wants them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Brush Turns

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Under the Brush](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/35004) by em_rose483. 



"He's got that crazy glint in his eye," Georg fretted. "You know the one. That look in his eye that means he's going to start talking about coordinated outfits or dyeing our hair or..."

"Georg. Georg. Calm down," Gustav told his friend, who appeared on the verge of bolting, and that wouldn't do at all. Georg was so easygoing that the twins could use him for a punching bag, most days, but then there were the off-camera moments. For instance, the word 'makeover' sent him into a blind panic. No amount of reasoning or talking him down was going to cut it until the possibility of glitter and manicures was past.

So far as Gustav knew, Georg had never had an older sister hellbent on knuckling him under to try six different shades of lipstick against his skin at a slumber party, so Gustav didn't know what on earth his problem was. Then again, Bill was twice as _motivated_ as Francizska had ever been.

"How can you tell me to be calm?" Georg demanded, as Bill advanced on Tom with two sticks of eyeliner and a manic grin until Tom was backed onto the couch behind him. "How are you going to deal with it when it's your face he's waving a paintbrush full of powder or sparkle or whatever the hell..."

Gustav folded his arms stolidly. "The 'yes, dear,' method," he murmured.

Georg peered over at him with a doubtful expression. "The what?"

"Watch and learn."

Bill had Tom completely cornered on the couch and appeared as though he was about to climb astride him. At some point, Gustav knew, some member of their entourage was going to have to take action, but Gustav never bothered – the twins were some of the only remaining entertainment that he had on the endless grind of tours. Someone else was going to have to interrupt his fun.

"We're not going to be watching anything but David doing damage control if Bill decides to ride the beast," Georg muttered beside him.

Gustav shrugged, folding his arms. It was cheap diversion no matter what, so far as he was concerned.

"Boys! Places!" their manager called out, and Gustav snorted softly at the look of abject relief in Tom's eyes. Bill was stowing the eyeliner into his back pocket – at least, he was trying. His jeans were barely large enough for a child, let alone a full grown man his age, and there was no way a one-Euro coin was fitting in that pocket; forget anything larger.

With a childish huff, Bill extracted it.

"Everyone ready?" David called out to the meager handful of people that actually remained in the suite they had been using for interviews all morning.

Bill tumbled from his standing position into Tom's lap, hooking an arm around him and curling up as though he was attempting to fuse them together. "Will you let me do your makeup for our next interview?" he inquired in his best smoky purr.

Gustav observed Tom attentively from the corner of his eye while pretending to be fixed on a far corner of the wall with his typical stony expression. He could sense Georg's rising anxiety – if Tom caved, their bassist was so convinced that he would be next. Bill was an unstoppable force where so many were concerned.

"No," Tom said, keeping it short and sweet.

It made Gustav want to nod approval. He was counting on Tom's resistance to further his plan.

The twins spatted for a moment longer, Bill writhing around in Tom's lap, as Georg headed for the couch with the air of a man wary to approach a couple engaged in an enthusiastic PDA and Gustav waited for someone to spoil the fun. Someone _always_ came along to put a stop to most overt displays of affection, unless Bill was committing them on live television or performances, in which case, the damage had been done.

Today, Tom was cooperating less than usual, and Gustav had narrowed the source of distress to the stick of glitter-laden eyeliner that was still in Bill's hand. Gustav almost wanted to shake his head, but that might tip his hand too soon.

"Bill, you can't sit in Tom's lap for the interview," David informed him, coming through with the rushed air of a man who had no patience for catering a pair of overgrown toddlers.

Georg appeared relieved, and finally joined the twins on the couch after Bill slid from Tom's lap, stowing the makeup in a breast pocket. Gustav took his place to Tom's other side, amused because Georg couldn't seem to decide which frightened him more – the stick of glitter eyeliner, or Bill snuggled alongside Tom. 

"Gus, you'll let me paint you up, won't you?" Bill wanted to know, shifting on the couch until he had found a satisfying configuration, part Bill and part Tom, yet separated enough for decency's sake.

Gustav caught Georg's eye as he leaned forward slightly, wanting his friend to know he was modeling the proper courage to display under fire.

"Sure I will," he spoke up with an understated shrug.

Bill pouted, recognizing a complete and utter lack of challenge in that simple acquiescence. Gustav had given in, therefore he would move on to the next band member who would actually offer up some resistance.

Gustav settled in for his afternoon interview nap, satisfied that once again Tom would be bearing the brunt of Bill's shenanigans, as nature had intended.

* * *

Bill was at it again, and Georg was not going to cave. Not now; not in a million years.

Georg was a man who cared about his appearance. Naturally, taking care of his body and his physique and being the envy of many a man with a less rigorous hair care regimen had certain advantages. He had his pick of the ladies, and not just the trashy, easy types, either. The real ladies, who had to be wined and dined and assured that they weren't just another fling or notch on his headstock before they would let him anywhere near their panties. As a man who cared deeply about his appearance to the furtherance of his body's pleasure principles, he made sure he looked good whenever he stepped out in public.

However, like any reasonable young twenty-something, Georg had limits.

"You're not putting eyeliner on me," Georg said, putting up his hands – not in defeat, but to bar Bill's path to his own person, should it become necessary.

Bill huffed, giving him a mournful, pleading look that wasn't going to work on Georg because he was a man, damn it, and even if men could wear eyeliner, bassists didn't. Not this one. 

"I know where you sleep," Bill said it like a threat.

Georg laughed. "That you do," he agreed amiably. "It's why we got different buses."

Bill gazed at him a moment longer, his pleading expression slipping to reveal the calculating demeanor beneath. "This isn't over," he stated, before storming toward the bathroom.

"Not so far as the day is long," Georg muttered, wondering what had kicked Bill off on this latest glitter trend. Had one of their staff slipped Bill a stack of teen idol magazines, or a copy of the latest Twilight movie?

It was usually Tom's job to act as a buffer when their front man was making dangerous noises about 'their look,' or threatening to mike Gustav in interviews so that people would hear him snoring and realize Bill did carry most of the load. Georg glanced around, searching for Tom as well as some kind of activity that would keep him safe through Bill's latest fixation.

"—can't have another interview that is nine minutes of you staring at Bill's chest," Dunja was saying.

Georg smirked and crept a few steps closer, always pleased to catch Tom getting chewed out. It was karmic payback for the array of nicknames the twins had created for him and the host of lies they'd spewed about him.

"Uh-huh," Tom replied, gazing past her shoulder with the mindless stare of someone who had heard it dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of times before and wasn't going to heed it this time, either.

"Never mind what the fans say; half the shit they make up is not nearly so crazy as the truth anyhow, but if an industry professional starts talking about you checking out your brother--" Dunja continued.

Tom's head snapped up, and Georg wondered if he was going to have to stage an intervention. Tom rarely got so wild-eyed; then again, he even more rarely paid actual attention to what their publicist had to say.

"Did you say makeup?" Tom blurted.

"Well, not exactly, but..." Dunja tried to continue.

"I have to go, bye!" Tom exclaimed, scurrying off as fast as the bulk of his sagging jeans would allow.

For a moment Georg thought Tom was headed for the catering table, but it was a clever feint. Tom darted for the bathroom, instead.

A decisive, commanding finger tapped his shoulder.

Georg could identify that person by poke. He sighed and turned around to face his fate.

"We need to talk hair," Bill informed him.

Georg tried to remember what Gustav would do in this situation. "...all right," he said agreeably.

Bill's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "All right, what?"

Georg's memory had to be failing him. He had no clue how to proceed from here, but porn videos and dated comedies could provide him with some reference. "All right...sir?" he said, hopeful that would cause the 'makeover' glint in Bill's eye to recede.

Bill made a noise somewhere between a huff and a scoff. "Let's go over to the touch-up station," he suggested, that calculating look showing through again.

Wary, Georg followed. He was safe indulging Bill's whims up to a point.

There were assorted hair products left out in the clutter, along with a great array of makeup. Natalie had twice the work of any stylist; making Tom, Georg, and Gustav up to look natural, while preventing them from being shiny or blotchy on camera, and putting Bill's rock glamour on him, as well. They gave her a hard time about it, too, with the exception of Bill who could freeze like a mannequin when the occasion suited him.

When Georg turned, there was a stick of brown glittery substance in Bill's hand, and a murderous light in his eye.

"No!" Georg uttered, in fear for his life.

"No?" Bill echoed ominously.

"No...Tom would want to go first," Georg tossed that out there, a steak flung from a desperate man cornered by a dog. Bill would be a greyhound, the thought occurred, before he re-focused on the task at hand. He was sure Bill would stab him in the eye with that glitter pen for sheer spite, and cackle when Georg cried over it.

"Oh, you're right!" Bill exclaimed, shoving the glitter pen back into his pocket. He fluttered thick false lashes at Georg. "I know what we can do, though."

"What's that?" Georg wondered, long past the point where he was susceptible to Bill's coy glances. He knew that Bill wasn't going to put out. For him.

"Let me curl your hair," Bill ordered, whipping a curling iron from out of nowhere.

Georg was tempted to peer around Bill's side and to the back of him. Bill was a skinny guy, and unless that curling iron had come from his ass, there had been no place he could possibly have been packing it. Impressed, his brows lifted.

"That's a yes," Bill decided.

"It's not even on," Georg pointed out.

Bill gestured to the wall socket nearby. "All you have to do is move with me a few steps over, and I'll be able to make you beautiful."

Georg laughed as he tried to remember Gustav's approach, again. Giving in, which would provide Bill no further challenge? But then Bill would curl Georg's long, straight, shiny hair, and Georg didn't want that. He folded his arms and gave Bill an implacable expression. If saying 'no' wouldn't work, and saying 'yes' would only land him in trouble, then he would say nothing at all.

Bill began to bounce on the balls of his feet, waving the curler around and enumerating, at length, why he thought Georg should let him apply its benefits to his hair. Most of Bill's reasoning, however, was self-serving and circled around back to 'because no one else will let me.'

Over Bill's shoulder, Georg could spot his other bandmate approaching, with all the wariness of one predator assessing another, potentially stronger one.

Bill summed up in a near whine, " _Please_ will you let me curl your hair?"

Georg stuck with the strong but silent approach, laughing at Bill's request and tossing his bountiful hair over one shoulder, hoping his glare was enough to adequately convey 'no, not if you traveled a thousand oceans wide.'

Bill pouted, crossing his arms in the beginnings of an interminable sulk. "I'm going to do Tom's makeup later," he said. He settled himself into a chair with the grace that almost, _almost_ made Georg reconsider his stance on women and how devoted he was to their entire sex.

Georg had to smirk. That was exactly the plan. Deflect, until Bill found another target for his boundless enthusiasm. "That's nice, don't forget to do Gustav after," he said. Gustav and his stupid 'yes, dear' tactic. Georg had still been left floundering on his own.

A somewhat shrill Kaulitz voice interjected, "He's not going anywhere near my face with that stuff."

Perfect, Georg thought. Bill and his endless beauty supplies were Tom's problem now. Because as soon as the elder was within reach, the younger...

"Tomiiii," Bill whimpered, reaching out for his twin with grabby hands.

Tom appeared to be earnestly attempting the imitation of a statue.

Georg couldn't help but snort. Unlike a statue, Tom had _ears_ , therefore...

Bill repeated the pathetic little keen, his fingers reaching out into empty space.

The elder twin produced a barely-audible sigh and moved to cross the gap between them, pouring himself into the chair beside Bill. They were locked tight together as two inextricable puzzle pieces.

Georg wanted to snort again, but held it in this time. He knew better than to break the fragile Kaulitz bubble, their impression that they were so secretive, so stealthy, so completely unfathomable to any besides themselves.

"You guys really ought to come around to seeing the value of making a few improvements," Bill said, falling into his lecture mode. "A little glitter and glam can do wonders, it's very in vogue."

"So's your face," Georg retorted.

Both twins blinked at him.

"Yes," Bill said slowly. "We were."

Georg sighed; there really was no way to win. The twins' faces had been in Vogue, and now he was out of comebacks. He stayed a moment longer as the twins bickered back and forth, Bill doing his best to persuade Tom that he was the perfect person on whom Bill should test his skills. There was some value in being entertained when he was out of the line of fire, after all.

When Bill pulled out the pink lip gloss stick and started waving it around, though, Georg was so out of there. That thing had _sparkles_ , and he was not going down. 

He wasn't Tom.

* * *

It was twenty minutes until the next interview blocked on the schedule, and Natalie had had her fill of David trying to chat her up. Half of her charges were in view – Gustav was playing cards with a member of their entourage, his poker face better than Bond, and Georg was dropping something into a nearby trash can that suspiciously resembled Natalie's prized curling iron.

Natalie made a mental note to retrieve it later.

"Where are the twins?" she wanted to know, glancing at her watch.

"Bathroom," David said with a shrug.

"Ah, yes," Natalie said thoughtfully. "They do everything together. Should we have Michael sent after them?"

"No," David replied, checking his watch as well. "It puts them off, better to let them come out in their own time. Besides, I heard last time, he tried to join in."

Natalie pretended not to hear that. "They're usually so thrifty with twin time on interview days. Is everything all right?"

"The usual horseplay. I heard Georg muttering something about makeovers, and Tom keeps staring at that stick of glitter eyeliner you gave Bill like it's going to murder him in his sleep," David told her.

Natalie clapped her hands together. "Perfect," she murmured.

"Nat," David said, "What did you do?"

Natalie grinned at him. "Have you ever noticed how much easier _my_ job is, when the boys think their alternative is to get made up by Bill?"

David stared at her a moment. "That's diabolical," he declared, but sounded impressed.

"You're jealous," Natalie replied, and moved for her makeup station, deciding to start with Georg first. The pimple on his chin would go untended if he didn't apologize for binning her favorite curling iron, no matter how much Bill had threatened him with it. "I've got a method for sorting them, but you still have to wrangle them into place each and every time."

"Whatever, I've got emails to answer," David scoffed, tugging his phone out of its holster and going for the far side of the room, where Dunja was frantically perusing the day's schedule with a familiar expression – they were behind schedule, and she needed to get them hustling.

"And I've got touch ups to tend to," Natalie returned, crooking a finger in Georg's direction. "You go answer your emails, and I'll take care of my job." And she would see how well her 'gifting' Bill with a handful of makeup on the verge of expiration had worked.

Georg settled into the chair with no complaints, and Natalie had to struggle to suppress a grin. This wasn't her main problem child, but he was already in check.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she murmured when she was through, whisking away the plastic smock that kept his black t-shirt free of loose powder.

Georg smirked up at her and said nothing, in keeping with the strong, silent routine he'd had going to keep Bill at bay. They all had their methods – Gustav gave in immediately, and Bill turned to more difficult game; Georg kept his mouth shut and gave Bill nothing to argue; and Tom had his own twin-specific methods.

"All right, send Gustav my way," she instructed. The twins still hadn't made a reappearance, and she was smart enough not to go looking for them.

Tom and Bill thought they were so secretive, and everyone let them have the impression they were utterly discreet. Not so much for the fans, but because if Bill weren't fettered by the chains of public opinion, there would be no telling what erotic displays of affection he would commit.

By the time Natalie had finished with Gustav's touch up the twins presented themselves, flushed and only moderately rumpled.

"Sit," Natalie ordered Tom, choosing as usual to start with the more difficult twin and finish up with Bill, who was a makeup artist's dream and could sit like statuary.

"Yeah, yeah," Tom replied, slouching toward the chair.

"Tom," Natalie said, leaning forward and sniffing as a familiar scent hit her nostrils. "Is that...strawberry?"

A shifty expression transformed the elder Kaulitz twin's face. "What's it to you?" he wanted to know, defensive.

Natalie waved it off with a smile, recalling that she'd given Bill a tube of strawberry flavored lip gloss along with the rest of the makeup she had given him, realizing in turn that Bill had been bribed off working Tom over with eyeliner for extensive twin kisses.

They all had their ways of avoiding a turn under the brush. She knew it well, and had her own methods for turning it back against them. Namely, putting a bug in Bill's ear about how good he was at applying his own makeup, and wouldn't he be even better at some practical application on a few volunteers? Bill ate up compliments, and puffing up his prowess at makeovers was no exception.

"Hold still," Natalie instructed, applying a touch of powder to Tom's wide forehead. He was already displaying a marked improvement over that morning, during which he had fidgeted, gnawed gummies in defiance of her food prohibition, and accepted a call in the middle of her work, holding his phone right to his face.

"You're the best, Natalie," Tom mumbled, remaining still as a stone. Both compliment and action made Natalie beam.

When the alternative was a brush wielded by Bill's frenzied hand, Natalie was pleased that her own delicate touch was infinitely more appealing.


End file.
